


The Arrangement

by snazzelle



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alive Shane, Arranged Marriage, Daryl as bargaining chip, M/M, Possible Mpreg, Protective!Rick, Slow Burn, Very AU, Woodbury vs. The Prison, fighting settlements, hints to mpreg, kink prompt, virgin!Daryl, zombies are still present
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 17:46:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1437193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snazzelle/pseuds/snazzelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: In a world full of wars and walkers, humans now live in small settlements and some have rivalries. The settlements of Woodbury and The Prison are very close and since they both use the resources of the same land, it's a case of no one wanting to share. However, now that Lori has died, that means the Leader of The Prison is in need of a new mate and what better way to broach peace between the two communities then by sending one of their own as a new partner?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm simply trying it out... if its well received, then I will happily continue this fic. 
> 
> Its fairly AU. It already feels very... old timey or fairytale like XD But its fun to write.
> 
>  
> 
> also  
> Prompt Bonuses:  
> Shane is still alive and awesome in the Prison.  
> Daryl is a complete virgin and awkward and hesitant (but not unwilling).  
> Author's choice as you whether they want this to be mpreg to ensure a link between the two settlements, I think this prompt could work either way.  
> Over time after some misunderstandings and difficulties, Rick and Daryl actually have a pretty decent marriage. 

It is the way that Andrea looked at him while they both made their rounds in the small town of Woodbury that had made him suspicious of what was going on behind the closed doors of the Governor's study. She had been passing him looks of pity, if at all it wasn't a look of contemplation, and more times than he'd care to count had Daryl assumed they were going to use his ass as bait for another crazy stint for supplies. He got enough of it when her blue eyes landed on him again... and again with that pity.

“Fer fuck's sake! Spit it out!”

Andrea jumped and if Daryl didn't know that her skin was as tough as nails, he'd of felt guilty. They stop by a small stand, ignoring the few that dared greet them when the air between them had grown thick, and blocked out the smell of cooking meat on a grill despite their empty stomachs. Andrea passed over an apologetic smile, “It isn't my job to tell you.” 

Daryl growled and trudged on to the grill, growling out their orders. Money wasn't the item of trade anymore, not here anyway, so for the two barbeque sticks he grabbed for them both was exchanged for a couple of batteries he managed to scrounge up during a last run. Expensive, but food was growing scarce. “Then don't look at me like y'got the worst news in the world.”

“I don't think anythin' is worse news than knowing your brother is _Merle_.”

“Ha!” Daryl passed over the second stick as he chewed into his own. This playful banter he was used to. Andrea gave him a nudge in thanks and continued on their walk. “Where is that jackass anyway.” 

“You mean, you don't know?” 

“I ain't his keeper. And I ain't the boss a' him. Now, you'd be doin' me favors if you could get Philip to stop doing the diplomatic thing and sending him to _burn bridges with everyone not Woodbury._ ”

“Merle can be persuasive.”

Daryl rolled his eyes. Didn't he just paint a pretty picture of what Merle's foot in his mouth can do?

“No really. He's grown under Philip's command, you should see him.”

“Well, I would if ya'll would either let me in the room or out on these missions wit' him.” The brat in him came out again, making the blonde woman next to him sigh in both exasperation and fondness. The younger Dixon would always be under Merle's shadow and under his protection, which made Daryl the younger brother to everyone despite his surly attitude. They simply chocked it up to what made up a Dixon. 

“Its not that easy.” That earned Andrea a childish snort, “Hell, Daryl. Many people would love to be where you are now. Why can't you just accept how things are? Its so good.” She led Daryl down another easy path, a beeline back to the main building of the town. 

Daryl released a heavy breath through his nose and hurried up the few steps to the front door. Still ever the gentleman (it had been beaten into him by Andrea, herself), he opened the door to let the lady in the house. “It doesn't change. Nothin' ever changes. I haven't seen some action in _months_ and it's all because ya'll are keepin' me cooped up in this building like a- like a-”

“Like a what?” Andrea smirked knowingly while the Dixon swallowed his words. They passed the office doors and it was quiet. That meant the officials were still not back from the meeting down at the Prison. “Merle still hasn't forgiven you for nearly getting shot in the head-”

“That was all you!”

“- and I still can't erase the nightmares of how you looked comin' home. Alone.” She patted Daryl's back heavily and lowered her eyes as he brought them both into the cocktail room. “We thought you were dead. You _should_ of been dead. Merle nearly stomped Philip's head when he found out it was under Philip's command that left you there alive.” At the silence Daryl gave him, Andrea pushed him into the love-seat and grabbed the now bare empty stick to throw away. She murmured, “If I had my way, you'd stay here.” 

Daryl cocked an eyebrow curiously and pushed himself up from where he had sprawled on the seat. He had just reached a hand out to hopefully stop Andrea from leaving him with questions when they were both disturbed with a single knock to the door frame.

Daryl was immediately to his feet, “Governor.”

-

Rick disliked situations like these. Usually, their set up was daunting enough that other settlements left them alone, but Woodbury always found their way back. There wasn't an exact border between their lands and up until this point they were sharing just fine. 

As long as they kept each other's noses out of each other's business, they had agreed to live in peace. But the supplies coming back were meager and people were dying. Rick and his people could use their help, can make use of their tools and medication, maybe take in some of Woodbury's people to help promote good health in The Prison- but it was so _difficult_.

The Governor and his right hand man did not promote trust. Woodbury had a military of people, while The Prison had their fences and a chosen few who were good with weapons. The Prison would give the Governor more land to spread his people and an already flourishing food source. Despite The Prison's small size, Rick knew its worth. 

Shane stood behind him as they overlooked the oncoming armoured trucks. The people who were coming were armed. Their home was good when it came to defending against the undead, but they got barely a leg to stand on against gunfire and the human hunger for dominance. Shane understood why he had gone so tense worth worry and anticipation. “Relax, brother. We had agreed no fighting when within each other's gates.” 

“You think we could trust them?”

“That Merle guy? Not one stitch.” 

Rick laughed quietly while Shane smirked. They had already came face to face with that redneck and the waters between them was already disturbed. It had been a complete mistake when Glenn had been captured and held prisoner, and though the Asian had been returned (along with a few apologetic gifts that had helped The Prison out _a lot_ during the winter months), Merle was not forgiven. That he was The Governor's highest soldier only made Rick shifty and suspicious. 

“I don't know what I feel about The Governor, though. I mean, who the hell goes around tellin' people to call him that?” Shane placed his hand on the gun on his side, a nervous habit coming to fruition when the front gates opened for the train of vehicles. “I'll tell ya, though. If they're looking to make it work, then this is the best news we heard in a long time.”

“I agree.” Rick nodded and waved a hand to have the other man follow him back into the prison. The room they were all going to meet in was closed off good and allowed for them to bare themselves open and to leave their distrust at the door.

In passing, he caught Beth walking the other direction. Rick smiled had urged her forward and Rick murmured a quiet 'hello' to her and his young daughter. Judith cooed at the sound of his voice and opened her clear blue eyes, her little hands waving for purchase. “How is she?”

“Good as always.” Beth said brightly, then said, “We're runnin' out of formula, though... We have a weeks worth at most.”

“And the supply runs? Nothin' comin' up?”

“Nothing for infants, Rick.” 

Rick nodded and patted her shoulder. While they were all finally plumping up with the expansion of his farm, Judith was still too young to eat solid food. “I'll figure it out. Go.”

He watched her walk away and when she turned the corner, he rubbed his face with both hands and carded them into his hair. “Goddamit, Shane.” 

“Don't worry. When we got this done, I'll accompany a team out further. A two or three day trek, if we have to.” 

Rick sighed and he hated to have to agree and send out more people into the dangers outside their Prison, but he would do anything to protect the last gift Lori gave to this Earth. He dwelled on her memory for a moment before tucking her back into a protected corner of his mind. “Lets see what Woodbury has to say now.”

Shane led the way to the room, giving the other an encouraging smile. “After you.” Rick snorted before schooling his face into something more neutral.

“Rick Grimes. It's good to see you well.” 

He waved a hand in dismissal, “'Rick' is fine, Governor.”

“Then I'll have to insist that you call me 'Philip'.” 

Pleasantries exchanged, Rick met the other man in the center of the bare room and grasped the hand held out to him for a firm shake. From the corner of his eye he could see both Shane and Merle at the mouth of the room, making sure no one else had the chance to enter without coming to them first. It was a good illusion of protection, if anything. 

“I'd supply a banquet, but I didn't want to drag this on longer than we need to.” Rick said as he took a step back. He felt much better with some space between them. 

The Governor gave a single nod of acceptance, “I understand. I couldn't of accepted, anyway.” He paused as he gathered his words. “I'm extending the offer again, Rick. The history between us isn't very long, but I know we have some bad blood spilled from both sides. And we tried our best, I know.” 

“I know that too. We spent a good four months without a single peep from you and yours in Woodbury.”

“And your people have not stepped a single foot in our settlement, either. But food is running tight and even you have to admit, supply runs aren't as generous as they used to be.” The Governor tone became more open, “I still suggest a trade route.” 

Rick took a minute to think this one through. On one end, he knew they could really use the help- both sides could. If the trade route was suggested, then it meant Woodbury needed something The Prison had and if it meant being allowed to share and trade, then nothing had to be taken with force. 

Plus, Woodbury may have things he needed for Judith. He could never know without first attempting this trade route.

But on the other hand, he had nothing to hold the Governor to his word. For all the intents and purposes this route may provide, allowing groups of Woodbury to come and go as they pleased opened a side vulnerable for attack. Rick could not have such an Achilles' heel and take all his people down with him for making a terrible decision. 

Rick was just about to shake his head, but he wanted this to happen. “How can I trust you?” 

“Excuse me?”

“Trust. We all need that now-a-days, don't we? I need to trust you, Governor. I'm not the one with an army.” 

“Ah.” The Governor gave him a wide smile and didn't comment on the slip of name. Coolly, he included, “I've heard what happened to your wife- and I'm sorry for your loss. I am. But with a newborn and a boy who's soon to be in his teens, I'm sure you don't want them to grow up without another influence in their life? I'm offering one of my own, and he's like family to me.”

“You are offering me a partner?” Rick asked and he felt the heat of something like anger and hate build in his gut. It was too soon and he didn't want to replace Lori just yet, but having one of Woodbury and someone close to The Governor in his home should insure their protection. He bit his tongue.

The Governor nodded and he gave Merle a single look that Rick could not decipher before staring him into the eyes and saying, “I'm offering you Daryl Dixon, younger brother to my Second in Command.”


	2. Chapter 2

It came around to Rick later in the day that Hershel was looking for him and when he found himself with time, had searched for the elderly man within The Prison. He much rather stay away while he looked as he did, but had to will himself to bring himself in front of the other. Dark circles appeared under his eyes over night and his step was slow and dragging. Rick didn't have a wink of sleep and it was sure to alarm the resident medic.

 

Just outside Hershel's cell, Rick tried tidying himself up. He straightened his button down shirt and fixed his half-assed attempt at tucking it in that morning. Pushing his hair back, he could only hope he looked half as presentable as he hoped.

 

At the once over and concerned look the elder gave him, he knew he did a terrible job. Rick gave the older man a small, crooked smile and took the offered seat across from Hershel sitting on the cot. “How are you, Hershel?”

 

“Surely better than you,” Hershel dropped his chin pointedly and said slowly, “You look sick as a dog, Rick. Is this decision to allow Woodbury past our gates bothering you?”

 

“Is it that obvious?”

 

“It is written all over your face.”

 

Rick huffed and he turned his head to stare at a wall instead of being caught in the other's fatherly gaze. There was a reason he came to Hershel after meetings with other settlements, but this one was far more personal. He could see Lori's face when he closed his eyes and felt guilt at her betrayed and judging stare. He shook his head and the image of her away then looked at Hershel. “I don't know what the Governor is doing by giving me this boy.”

 

“Last I heard, he was a capable young man like yourself.” Hershel said neutrally. He put his book down, some little fairytale Rick was sure Hershel was going to recite to the children later, and set his hands on his knees. It was such an open and willing position Rick kind of wanted to run away rather than feel he was receiving more help than he deserved. This man owed him nothing. “And it sounds like the Governor is offering you a new life mate.”

 

Rick slouched and his hand came up to rub at his temples with his thumb and middle finger. “I don't _need_ a new partner.”

 

“It would be an insult to take this Daryl as anything else.” Rick took the time between them to come up with an excuse for otherwise, but then Hershel continued, “It would also make Daryl part of The Prison and give him a reason to stay. I am the last person to want for you to add politics in a relationship, but if Daryl and you manage to find peace with each other then I can only hope that Daryl will also want to carry your burdens with you.”

 

“You mean be the one managing our bond with Woodbury.” Rick said flatly and placed his folded hands onto his lap. “He could schedule their appearances... he could talk to the Governor and get him to reason with us. He _knows_ them.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“And if he betrays us?”

 

Hershel reached the short distance between them and gave Rick a pat on the shoulder, “I would hope you would forge a friendship together before that day could come.” When Rick released a humorless laugh and shook his head, Hershel pushed something he wished he never had to bring up, “We cannot ask you to replace Lori-”

 

“That is not happening.”

 

“But-” Hershel stopped at the sudden shake in Rick's tone. He exhaled through his nose and nodded, “She would not want you to go on alone, as you are.”

 

Rick shrugged uselessly and resisted the urge to take the defensive stance of crossing his arms. “Its too soon.”

 

“I know that. We all do, Rick. But it doesn't hurt to try. Right now, Daryl coming to The Prison will benefit our people and will open doors to much needed supplies. Daryl doesn't have to come and replace Lori.”

 

Rick could only nod on his way out. His voice had caught in his throat.

 

-

 

The moment The Governor gave him the news that he'd be transferring to The Prison and playing bitch to the guy who ran it processed in his brain, Daryl couldn't help but to take it out some way. He chose yelling at Merle until the other man got fed up and left for some border patrol, then holing up in his small apartment and drinking himself stupid. The next morning, Daryl woke up in quite the bad mood and found someone to blow some steam off with.

 

“Christ, Caesar! Let me up!” Daryl barked from where he was under the heavier male. Face in the dirt, he growled and bucked, releasing pained grunts when Martinez twisted his arm more firmly. A hand to the shoulder to pull his arm up and out made Daryl gasp and panic, “Stop! Ya tryin' to break my arm?”

 

“No, 'course not.” Martinez laughed and released his hold. He managed to roll out the way before the Dixon could land a kick to any part of his body. “Just makin' sure _that_ didn't happen. You still pissed?”

 

“You'd be too if you were bein' used as a bargaining chip...” Daryl panted and rolled his shoulder to let the feeling come back to his arm. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a good couple feet away from the Mexican-American. He had taken the other man out into the make-shift arena, hoping to blow off steam. It worked for the most part, but then he remembered he'd be leaving come morning. He bared his teeth and made a lunge for Martinez, but the other was too quick and managed to push him back onto the floor and get to his feet. “Fuck!”

 

“You're gettin' better, but not good enough to pin me.”

 

“Ya wanna say that to my face, spick?”

 

“Oh yeah, I do, wonderbread.” He let Daryl get to his feet and said rather playfully, “You. Suck.” The air was knocked out of him, but he was still smiling when Daryl threw his weight into his chest.

 

Daryl was a brawler like his brother and threw his whole body into it his strikes. He honest to god did not care what came out of Martinez's mouth during their spars, and hell, the other man could get downright nasty. In a way, Daryl was almost grateful, as the spurring words provided an outlet for all the cooped up frustration.

 

“Come on, ya pussy! Where your balls at?” Martinez teased and Daryl snarled. The redneck got a few good shots in before he was lifting him up with his shoulders and Daryl was beating on his back with solid punches.

 

“Ow, ow! Shit, Daryl!” Martinez grunted managed to topple them both down on the ground again. The months he's been sparring with Daryl led him to learn that getting the man on the floor was his best bet. The short tussle had Daryl on his font again with Martinez sitting on his lower back. Arms pinned, the Dixon went lax and tried to catch his breath, knowing he had lost this spar again. “Man, I am _so_ gonna miss this.”

 

Daryl snorted and rocked his upper body, “Get offa me, hornball.” When he was free again, Daryl rolled onto his back and enjoyed the air that re-entered his lungs. His muscles burned with the exertion of the play-fight and it felt so good. For a moment, he could forget that by this time tomorrow, Woodbury would be a memory.

 

A large, rough hand was in his hair, making Daryl close his eyes and smile at the show of affection. He remembered a time when he would flinch from such a touch, but Martinez had simply petted the reaction out of him once Daryl was open enough to call this man his friend. The only other people he let touch him like this was Merle and, on occasion, Andrea. It was just Martinez who took advantage of this privilege and touched him as often as he could.

 

“Ya got any more smokes?”

 

“That's it. That's all you keep me around for.”

Daryl laughed heartedly and listened as the other picked his pocket for the small, squashed carton and light a cigarette for the both of them to share. Daryl swallowed, needy for that cigarette now, and practically snatched it from Martinez' hand when he held it out. “Thanks.”

“You know, its sort of a good thing that you're going to The Prison.”

Daryl released a drag in one fast huff and scrunched his nose as he watched the smoke above him dissipate into the air. “Not ya too, Cee. If ya ain't on my side, don't bring it up.”

“I mean, I hate to see you go, Daryl, but think of it this way... our people are gonna starve soon. The price for a bag of chips is ridiculous, let alone a slab of meat or a pound of vegetables. You'll have access to that farm of theirs and the man who's carin' for it.”

“So yer tradin' me for a cheaper bag a' chips.”

“Shut up, Daryl.” Martinez laughed and threw a foot out to lightly kick Daryl's shoulder. He made a reach for the cigarette before Daryl could finish it. “Safety, too. If Woodbury gets overrun one of these days, The Prison walls would keep us all safe.”

“What else ya got?” Came the dry reply.

Martinez shrugged and handed the last puff over to Daryl. “Inside scope. Good information, if we need it.”

Daryl choked, coughing up smoke and waving the smoke billowing around him in a dark cloud. “Yer askin' me to betray them?”

“I'm not askin' you nothin'.” Martinez said and helped the other man up to lightly pat on his back. Daryl looked at him under his furrowed eyebrows. Despite Daryl and his roughness, the man was a damn sweetheart in areas he shouldn't be, not in a world like this. Fuckin' over good people was not high on his to-do list. “Don't give me that look. That was only a suggestion and a probability. Phil didn't put me to persuade you.” He gave the other a small, playful smirk, “Though, I could be a bit jealous. Handin' ya off to that Grimes... wasn't I good soldier? Don't I get a prize?”

“I ain't no prize, Martinez.” Daryl huffed, his cheeks coloring just slightly enough for the other to notice. He got to his feet and hid his blushing face by brushing off his cheek with the back of his hand and dropping his head as he snuffed out the cigarette at his feet. Martinez didn't bother to tell him differently as they walked back to the town center, but he remained cheerful, knowing that he had got to Daryl.

The sky overhead reflected Daryl's emotions, mirroring with an oppressive gray. It echoed the rest of Woodbury too and Daryl remembered when it seemed the sun never set. Half the vendors were shut down along the streets and people were giving away important possessions for a bite of food. It would only be a time before people were killing each other like animals for a scrap to eat.

It wouldn't be within the next few weeks, but Daryl knew that future was out there and coming nearer. He almost felt guilty that he'd be leaving this place when it had become so desolate for a place where hunger was not an issue. He was trading what had grown to be his family for comfort. If he had a choice, he'd stay back and help where he could.

“Come on. We promised to meet Andrea back home.”

“Yeah right. Sh'just she won't open the damn door herself.”

Martinez laughed and threw his arm over Daryl's shoulders.

–

There was an empty, heavy pit in Merle's stomach that had to be something like anxiety and guilt. It churned and made him break out in a light, cold sweat when he found himself dwelling on what exactly he was throwing his younger brother into. It stopped him from sleeping at all last night and couldn't even bring himself to check up on Daryl once he got back.

The silence between the brothers was heavy and Merle could only watch numbly as the front door opened to reveal the young Dixon and his old friend. He could see the way Daryl's mouth tightened at the sight of him before he turned and headed to the back of the building where his apartment was, next to his own.

Martinez stopped by him, covered in dirt and bruises. It made Merle snort. “Lookit you. My brother handed yer brown-ass on a silver plate!”

“He could only _wish_ that, man.” Martinez said with a grin and started pushing Merle in the direction Daryl headed.  
Coming into the apartment, they could already hear Andrea and Daryl packing away. Their conversation was quiet and simple. From just outside the open door, Merle could make out Daryl telling Andrea what he wants to leave and what he'll take with him.

“You sure you want to leave this behind?” Andrea asked just as Merle walked in. The small living and dining area was a mess, but Daryl had always been a little disorganized. Andrea held up a leather vest. It was Merle's at one point, but he'd grown out of it and too old to be sporting the wings.

Daryl stuck his head out of his bedroom. He eyes the vest, then he does Merle. “Nah, I'll... just hand it over, I'll wear it.” Andrea met him half way and Daryl threw it on carelessly over the clean button down he managed to find in the pile of did laundry sitting on his bed. Daryl left for his room without a word.

“What? Not even gonna say anythin' to yer old Merle?”

“I'm done talkin' ta you!”

Merle sighed and rolled his eyes, plopping down on a chair he freed up by tipping everything on it over. He silently directed Andrea to leave this to him with a nod of his head towards the door. When the door shut behind both Andrea and Martinez, Merle called out for his brother.

“Ya gonna have to talk to me sometime!”

Stomping was heard from the other room into where Merle sat before Daryl was throwing his full knapsack onto the couch. He was acting just like he did when he was a teenager and had learned that Merle was going to leave him behind with their father. The look he shot him was painfully young, hurt, and angry. “Yeah? I think it's best I don't.”

“Don't be like that, baby brother,” Merle started and stood up to follow the pacing Dixon around. He could only take so much before Merle stopped somewhere between Daryl and the front door. “Ya'll jus' scared. Now would'ja quit actin' like a sissy and _stop yer pacin'?_ I'm talkin' to ya!”

“Yer sellin' me out! I think I got every damn right.”

“Y'know I'm doin' this fer yer scrawny ass. It'll only be months before even I'll have to high-tail it fer a better place.” He watched as Daryl paused in his stuffing a garbage bag for other personal items. The way the other scrunched up his face told Merle that he didn't buy it.

“No. Ya know ya did this fer yerself.” Daryl narrowed his eyes at Merle and shouldered him out of the doorway.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Redneckwoman!

If Daryl didn't know any better, he'd think this was all a ploy to get rid of him. In his opinion, they weren't at all regretting sending him off, for a moment he thought it must have been something he's done. When he sees Andrea waiting by the van, Daryl sort of wanted to fall to his knees and hide his face in her lap, beg for forgiveness like he used to do with his momma when he was a child. And like a child, he wanted to dig his heels into the ground and demand to know why he was going, even though he already knew the answer to that. He still couldn't help feeling, though, like the world was against him.

He threw his shit into the open van and shoved his hands into his pockets. He didn't know how to do goodbyes very well, and Andrea was looking at him in a way he knew it was best to pretend he didn't see the sadness in her eyes. Daryl remembered that she had lost her sister when she had just took her eyes off of her for a few minutes- and as much distance as he tried to put between them in the past, now they were as good as siblings and they won't have any way of contacting each other.

“I'm stayin' back, you know that right?” Andrea said, and it started out shakily before it steadied into something more like herself. People were loading up in the van, a total party of six, including himself, Merle, and Martinez. Daryl nodded and he felt this odd, empty feeling in the center of his chest. “Can't leave Woodbury alone for long without its leaders.”

“Is tha' what y'are now?” Daryl asked quietly with this little crooked grin. The attempt to lighten the mood was worth it when Andrea reached forward to punch him in the shoulder before grabbing him with both hands around his upper arms. She squeezed his muscles like she was making sure he was real and whole and looked up into his eyes. He could only hold her gaze for so long and dropped his eyes to the floor. “Y'take care a' 'em.”

Andrea laughed, but it sounded on the edge of bitter. She looked over her shoulder at Philip, who barked orders every now and then to make sure the van was heavily armed. “That's why _I'm_ stayin', and you're going to be someone's mate. If I'd just keep my mouth shut and let things run as they should, it would be _me_ going there instead of you-”

“Like Philip would want to turn ya out.”

“Our relationship is besides the point. And its nothing like how yours is going to be with Rick Grimes.”

Daryl's mouth sealed shut and Andrea looked like she wanted to take her words back. Her hands smooth down Daryl's arms, “It won't be bad. He's a good man.”

A scoff. “Who's good 'round here now-a-days?” Daryl frowned when Andrea gave him a little grin.

“Well, I once heard Merle say no one's as sweet as his lil' brother-”

“Shut yer mouth.”

Andrea finally pulled Daryl into a hug, and Daryl fell into it, clinging just as tightly as she. When he pulled away, he made it a thing to not look at her again, unless he wanted to end up doing something he could regret and completely bail.

“Where's the Governor?” Daryl asked as he got into the van, squeezing in next to Martinez and the door. It slid shut and Daryl was glad for the air conditioning that cooled the sweat from his skin. He wasn't surprised that the other man didn't stay to tell him goodbye- for one, he probably would be coming around The Prison to make sure the bond was made, and the older man already knew Daryl didn't like the situation in the first place. “Ya know what? It doesn't matter. How long'stha ride?”

“A good five hours, but Mike up there knows a short cut that should give us back one hour.” Martinez grinned and to make space, flung his arm up over Daryl's shoulders around the car seat. He leaned in, his breath making Daryl flinch when it tickled his ear as he whispered, “What's up with Merle? Hasn't said a damn word since he got out of the house.”

“Fuck 'im.” Daryl muttered and was jostled against the other man as the van surged forward. If the older man was feeling guilty, he better, and Daryl was happy to take the silence between them. He tore his eyes away from the window to look at Martinez, passing over a small grin to show that his anger wasn't bleeding out to anybody else and nudged him on the stomach. “What's the time?”

“I'm thinkin' a little after three. We'll be there before nightfall.”

 

* * *

  
Daryl picked at a lose thread in his jeans, right over his knee where a scratch was scabbing nicely. They had to be half way there by now, but without a watch it was harder to tell time. Merle had this thing where he could rely on the sun for that, a trick that the younger Dixon hadn't bothered to learn. He was regretting that now. He sure as hell wasn't going to ask Merle how much time had passed.

Mike kept telling them they were on the right track, but with the way the dark-skinned man looked from side to side down worn, dirt roads, Daryl was starting to believe that he got them well enough lost. A guy who was whittling away with his folding knife (his mind supplied _Ben_ as his name) had spoken up about it a few times, even once demanding to drive and take them back to the main roads. Mike said they were too far away to do that.

“Goddamit, stop! I can't take this bullshit.” Ben growled and stabbed his knife right into the back of the driver's seat. “Ya either know where we are or ya don't.”

Mike jumped, his eyes widened and breath coming in one fearful gasp. All he felt was a strong punch to the back of his seat, but the sound of tearing cloth was what did him. “Shit! The fuck you doin'?” The car stilted, making everyone in the van surge forward and mutter in annoyance. Daryl had to grab on to the seat in front of him to prevent from faceplanting into a headrest.“Fuckin' drivin' here!” Ben flipped him off and tugged his knife free.

“Let 'im fuckin' drive, Ben!” Merle grouched, startled from his nap, and he glared over his shoulder at the other man. Daryl met his eyes for a second before scooting down and staring out the window. “Christ, ya fuckin' pussy. Its woodlan', not some enemy territory 'er nothin'-”

“Yeah, woods! Trees! All I see is trees and dirt, and that ain' puttin' up signs? We're _lost_ -”

Mike spoke up, taking a turn down a path. “We ain't lost.”

“You tell me where the fuck this road is takin' us then, nigger.”

“Wha- what did y'call me?”

Before Mike could turn around, Merle was slapping him upside the head, the sound of it making Daryl whip his head around to watch the conflict unfold before him. “Drive. And one more word outta you, I'm cuttin' out yer tongue with that piece a' scrap metal ya call a knife.”

Ben gritted his teeth for a silent snarl, eyes blazing as he stared at the older Dixon. In the end, he knew better than to call Merle's threats and went back to whittling, shaking his graying hair out of his eyes. Daryl didn't know he had tensed at all until he was uncoiling into Martinez' side. The Mexican was smiling in amusement, only making Daryl roll his eyes.

“When they get that bad?”

“You think that's bad? Should see when John needs to relieve himself.”

Daryl released a short laugh. He heard John muttering from the seat before them, having been silent and out of the way most of the ride. Snorting, Daryl said, “What, ya needa piss?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” John announced, making Martinez cackle as Merle cracked and told him to take a piss out the window. “Aw, come on, Dixon! We've been driving for hours!”

Ben growled, “Let'im piss his pants, fucker shoulda went before we left!”

“Fuck you, Benjamin.” He shoved at the grouchy man, “Jus' stop there! ...Christ, is that a town?”

John pointed out the window, and they could just see a white water tank flashing over the green trees like a beacon. Mike did a quick double take, not slowing down even a bit. “Probably crawlin' with zombies. Not gonna take the chance.”

“But come on! Maybe the place hasn't been hit yet. Think we could scrounge up some currency up there? Merle, brother, think of the smokes that coulda been left untouched in a gas station?”

The guy was pulling on strings now. Daryl grimaced at how pathetic John sounded but he'd rather not be sitting in a car for the next few hours smelling urine from the floor. “Just take the stop, man. Check it out.” John looked at him like he was the second coming of Christ for a second. That, he easily ignored.

For once, Merle didn't argue. He barked out a quick 'fine' and Mike was taking a sharp turn through the trees. All they saw was empty houses, empty cars, and lifeless bodies on the floor. Daryl stared at the buildings with their boarded up windows and peeling paint. Now that the talk had ended within the van, it was much too silent.

They stopped just a little further back, enough to put distance between themselves and their vehicle in case things get tricky and they become surrounded. John was the first to jump out of the van, running to find some privacy between a small pub and a post office to empty his bladder. Martinez still has that amused grin, ready to jump out and meet John at the mouth of the alleyway when Merle's paw like hand closed over his shoulder.

“No ya ain't. Keep watch on Daryl. He's stayin' right here.”

“Like hell I am!” Daryl shot his hand out at Merle before looking around for his crossbow. That massive weapon was probably sitting in the back in its case, out of the way. He shouldn't of let Andrea put it away.

The look on Merle's face spoke of surprise. He probably thought Daryl was going to play the silent game with him the whole ride there. Daryl attempted to get out of the van, but then Merle moved into action, clambering out, feet on the ground even before Daryl could swing his legs out the door. “I promised yer safe passage to The Prison.”

“Right. Can't have the special gift lost, huh? Can't disappoint yer precious Governor?” Daryl spat and ignored the intimidation tactic Merle tried to pull over him. Daryl stepped out of the van, chest pressed against chest with his brother as he stared him down. He'd gotten a punch to the face for doing this same exact thing in his youth, and the younger Dixon expected as much. “What're ya gonna do ta stop me?”

Merle's upper lip curled and his eyes scan over Daryl's face. “Ya get in the fuckin' van.” His breath was hot over his face, sour with the stench of cigarettes, but Daryl didn't even flinch. “Y'won't hear me askin' again.”

Daryl inhaled and exhaled harshly through his nose before taking the seat he had just vacated. Ben exited the van with an exchange of glances between the two Dixons before sliding the door shut, leaving both Martinez and Daryl inside.

“Smoke?” Martinez offered as Daryl blocked out any kind of conversation Merle was having with the others. The younger man chewed on his thumb's hangnail, gnawing until he felt the sting of broken skin.

“Light it.”

 

* * *

 

They had gone through the whole pack before Merle and his crew came back. Daryl had opened the doors again, legs hanging out, and head on the middle seat. The heat of  the day was getting to him, making his clothes and hair stick to his skin. Without the smokes, Daryl started chewing on a piece of grass. 

“They're takin' much longer than I thought they would.” Martinez commented and flung a stone he had just picked up from around his feet across the street. He didn't look to be fairing under the weather too well either, and had already flung off his top hoping to cool down in his white wife beater.

Daryl pushed his bangs off of his forehead and groaned at the heat. His vest was sticky where it touched his skin, but he refused to remove it. He pulled at the lapels, opening up the vest to bring air around his chest, feeling the cool chill of wind where he had sweated through the cotton of his shirt. _Christ_ \- “Probably found somethin' good. Shoulda went, we coulda helped. Fuck, 'nything's better than this oven.”

“Ya see the look Merle was givin' you?”

Daryl snorted, “His ugly mug ain't hard to miss.”

They fell back into silence, keeping an eye out and an open ear for their returning comrades. If they didn't come back soon, they weren't going to reach the prison until night. He doubted The Prison would be so willing to open the gates that late. Daryl pushed himself up and got out the van to stretch his legs. “We should find them.”

“They said to stay right here, Daryl. For your safety-”

“I could take care of myself jus' fine. A lil' scratch is going to devalue me, er somethin'?”

“Hey, it ain't like that.”

“Hell it ain't.” Daryl scoffed and he was just going to the back of the van to unpack his crossbow when he sees Mike come running their way. The first thing he noticed was the blood staining the other man's clothing and the panic expressed on his face. Daryl took a few steps toward the man, feeling dread well up in his stomach. Where was _Merle?_

“We gotta go. We gotta _go_ -”

Mike grabbed at Daryl wherever he could, hand on arm, another fisting into his vest and dragging Daryl back to the van. The Dixon was too shocked to do more than follow, his breath having been stolen from him to say a word. His eyes shift, mind racing, and anxiety and terror slammed into him making his first breath come in a ragged gasp. “Merle-”

“Get in!” Mike shoved Daryl into the van just as two, three zombies came around the corner. They led a small herd, jaws snapping and bodies lurching at of the sight of live meat. The door closed with a slam while Daryl righted himself on the car seat, reaching for the door handle. He had to find his brother, they _can't_ leave, he won't-

The van sped onto the road, the screech of tires making Daryl cringe as he's thrown against Martinez by the force of the turn. Mike's words were coming to him in garbles, but from what Daryl could understand, they had to get to the Prison. They needed help. That Merle was _alive_ with Ben.

“I could a' gone! Ya could a' taken me!” Daryl yelled and he reached between the seats for the steering wheel. Mike jumped, arm flying out to bat Daryl out of reach while Martinez dragged him back.

“Relax.”

“We gotta go back!”

“We will.” Martinez gritted out as he pinned Daryl to the seat. “But not alone. We go back, we're all dead.”

They reach the prison within an hour, but Mike was gunning it, pedal flat most of the way when he could get away with it. At this point, Daryl didn't care if they ran the fence over. Every minute he was away from that small town, was a minute he could lose his older brother. As mad as he was with Merle, he wasn't going to let that happen.

But Mike didn't do that. The car came to abrupt stop before Mike was rolling down the window. An Asian man stepped up against the fence, could see the way his brow furrowed at their panicked states.

Mike stuck his head out, screaming, “Open the gate! Let us in!”

The Asian didn't move, didn't even look like he knew what to do. It was anything but what he was expecting, three grown men, one covered in blood, two others tense with the response to fight or fly. They're close enough to see the kid tighten his hands around the barrel of his shotgun. Mike raised his hands.

“We're Woodbury, kid! Open the gates!”

“Where's the Governor?”

“Ya think he's gonna be here to drop off the package? Jesus Christ, kid, let us in!”

The kid took a step back, turned, and threw a look over his shoulder as he ran off into the guard house. Mike cursed, threatening under his breath to turn around and break the deal on his own. “These fuckin' bastards! We're goin' back. Think Merle can hold out fer the night..?”

Daryl's breath caught in his throat. He shook his head. “No. We demand help, or we go back ourselves. 'm not leavin' my brother back there!”

They hear a rattle against the fence. The Asian is back and this time he is accompanied by a tall, dark male. His boxer's face is pulled into a scowl and his hand rested over a pistol on his side.“You're Merle's brother?”

Mike sighed a thanks to his Lord. “Yes! Daryl Dixon- He's Daryl Dixon.”

That seemed to be enough. They weren't many anyway, less of a threat. The gate was opened manually, both men sliding it open just enough for the van to drive through. They come into a cleared area of dirt and short grass, lit by the torches tied onto a flipped bus. The faces Daryl saw he did not recognize. At this moment, he only cared who was strong enough to come with him.

Mike jumped out of the van, his body shaking from the spent adrenaline. A woman with bright eyes and gray hair immediately went to his side, holding out a bottle of water and a cloth she had wet. “You're hurt?”

“Not bit.” Mike took the cloth and scrubbed at the blood on his hands.

She looked at Daryl and Martinez, but before she could ask about them, Daryl wheezed out, “My brother...” Her face softened with sympathy. Daryl had to tear his eyes away.

A voice spoke up, low and smooth, “Where is he?” Daryl's eyes were brought to the man crouching on the floor with a young boy. They had to be family, held the same haunted blue eyes, and like that Daryl believed this man could understand. Daryl swallowed down his nerves and approached the man who steadily got to his feet.

“Small town- boarded homes, peeled paint-”

“Sounds like Cottonwood. S'close enough.” The Asian supplied.

The man in front of Daryl nodded once he processed the information. His blue eyes meet his own, his gaze unwavering. “He's alive?”

“Yeah...” He can't recall begging for anything in his life, but right now, standing in front of this man, and his brother out there, he can't help but gasp out, “Yeah, _please_ -”

A warm hand came to wrap around his arm and Daryl's immediate reaction was to flinch. He took his hand back, and instead held it out and open, shows Daryl his unguarded palm and soothed with his voice, “Stay calm... Can you do that? Breathe easy. We'll find him.”

 

Daryl believed him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is getting harder and harder to write omg 
> 
> again, beta'd by redneckwoman c:

 If one wanted to find Rick Grimes, they had better luck looking for him with his fingers deep in the soil he made rich with his own hands, than the cold, concrete hallways of their home and prison. It was in his field where he went to think, and right then, a lot was on his mind.

 

His hands were dirty and sore, sweat on his brow from the labor he spent under the sun. He squinted over the plot of land, deciding that he had done what he could. Rick thought he could get Carl to come with him in the morning to plant the saplings they've all watched over sitting by the windows inside the prison. The plants sure did bring life to the gray walls, but they'd do much better out here where the sun was shining.

Rick sat out by the shed, booted feet kicked out in front of him as he wiped away the dirt from his hands and fingernails with a wet cloth. He had tried to make peace with what the future had in store for him, but though the silence had provided him comfort, it had given him no answers. His mind was left to wander about the younger Dixon coming into his home, and soon to become part of his family. Rick wasn't sure where the newcomer would fit in in all of this, probably would stick out like a sore thumb. That this man was soon to be much closer than any friend or brother, just made it that much less simple.

 

He hadn't brought it up with Carl yet. The boy had placed the memory of his mother somewhere deep, encased in something so fragile the single mention of her name made the muscles in his jaw clench and his young eyes to crinkle and narrow. The boy's smile had been wiped from his face, and when he did smile it never quite looked sincere.

Rick doesn't have to ask Carl to know the boy has night terrors about that dark experience in the boiler room. He considered himself a simple man, but he if he closed his eyes he could just imagine being the one holding the gun to his wife's head, waiting for the turn so pulling the trigger wouldn't hurt as much. Rick knew they should talk about it, talk about _her_ , but the wounds were still raw, even for himself. Sometimes, Rick could even still see her and convince himself that she had never gone.

 

Rick could admit to himself that the state of his little family will not be fair for Daryl Dixon.

 

The crunch of dry dirt brought his attention to the figure coming his way. A small smile found its way to his mouth, and Rick dropped his view as he pushed away his worries before meeting Shane's steady gaze. He got a nod for the acknowledgement, one that Rick returned before getting to his feet.

 

Rick asked, “Is it time?”

 

“It's gettin' close.” Shane fell in step with Rick, making their way back to the prison. “'bout to get to the gate an' wait for their arrival. Said they'd be here before nightfall.”

The sun was already making its decent. If the information was true, then they would be here any minute, but from what he knew about Merle, that man was anything but punctual. His mind supplied that he was taking this man's brother. Rick exhaled through his nose, felt this nibbling of unlabeled emotion in the center of his chest. It was a feeling that kept him up at night, an unsettling in his stomach that made it difficult to eat. Something close to guilt.

The young man had lost his brother. Rick felt his heart clench at the way the man haltingly described a location. From his words, this man's brother could be anywhere out there. Small towns was scattered here and there between settlements, all abandoned and broken down.

 

“Sounds like Cottonwood. S'close enough.” Glenn said from his side. He was slighty winded, having jogged with Shane back to the clearing. Shane was giving him a look, one that Rick couldn't be bothered to read at this moment.

 

“He's alive?”

 

“Yeah.” The other man's breath caught, “Yeah, _please_ -”

 

Rick felt he needed to give him comfort, and he did it the best way he knew how given the circumstances. “Hey...” The word came out more a whisper as he placed a hand on the younger man's arm. The way he had twitched away and his breath sped made Rick pull his hand back, holding it open and out soothingly. He said louder this time, “Stay calm... Can you do that? Breathe easy. We'll find him.”

 

He got a nod for that, the young man dropping his gaze as he paced back to the van. He didn't notice that his son had come up next to him, half wondering if the sudden appearance of the boy was what pushed the man away. Rick lingered on him for a bit, studied the way his movements have grown stiff and stilted, fingers jittery and to his mouth that added to his nervous gait. Carl shouldered him.

 

“Who's that?”

 

“Didn't get a name.” Rick rubbed the back of his neck and leaned his weight on one side, his mind racing. “You need to head back. Watch the others for me while I'm gone.”

 

–

 

They had gotten the young man with the tired blue eyes to sit down. He was no good the way he was, pacing like a caged animal. Carol had tried to get him to talk, hoping to comfort him and relate, but he wouldn't reply. When she confessed that her little girl had passed, his breath came in harsh puffs, like he was resisting the urge to scream at her.

 

Rick was still watching as his dark-skinned companion touched Carol's shoulder and politely asked her for some water. He heard his name being thrown around, Martinez, of Mexican decent. He seemed close to the blue eyed male, over his shoulder like some sort of guardian. Shane brought Rick away, looking back just the same, at the man silent and fretful.

“That's Daryl Dixon.”

 

“I-” Rick blinked and he looked over his shoulder at the same man again. “Merle's brother. That would mean...”

 

“That's Merle out there.” Shane nodded and exhaled slowly, “Hell, I'd say good riddance...”

 

“We can't... you know that, Shane. They're family. He should at the very least know what happened to him.”

“Right. I do know that, s'just...” Shane pushed a hand through his thick hair, face scrunching up in vexation. “Ya see the sun settin'? We'll be riskin' our necks savin' someone not one a' our own. Hell, the guy fuckin' leads the army that can trample us to the _ground._ ”

 

“Or that can protect us from everything outside these gates. I know we ain't solid with that man and Woodbury, but we have to make this work. Brother, I'm askin' you to be with me on this.”

 

Shane stared at him, baring into his own blues. He eventually released a sigh, looking away before returning with a look of reluctant acceptance. “What do ya want me to do?”

Rick's lips quirked and he clapped a hand on Shane's shoulder. Relief washed through him at the other man's acquiescence. “Ya know that Tundra just round back? Think that's still got a full tank- syphoned for it a couple a' days ago. Find us some volunteers for this rescue mission while you're at it.”

 

“What're you going to do?”

 

“I got to talk down a Dixon.” At the scoff Shane released, Rick's mouth widened into his own smile. If Daryl was anything like his brother, it shouldn't be some easy task.

“Yeah... good luck wit' that. Give me fifteen minutes.”

 

“ Let's try to make it ten.”

 

Rick laughed when he heard a mumbled 'pushy jackass' following the retreating steps. Now he just had to talk to Daryl. He spun on his heel, expecting the younger man to still be sitting down. He didn't expect Daryl to be on his feet, making his way towards him.

 

The determination that had replaced the distress in Daryl's eyes made Rick stop in his tracks. Immediately his heart had picked up at being in the receiving end of such a stare. He found himself intimidated, blinking back what felt like troubled nervousness.

 

“Ya gotta take me wit'cha, boss.” Daryl said. Rick's brows twitched upward at the high rasp of Daryl's voice and the message it carried. Daryl shifted on his feet once before taking a stance, his wide shoulders squaring, immovable. His face spoke that he best know better than to refuse him.

 

But that was exactly what Rick had to do. With a shake of his head, he said, “No. It's too dangerous.” He took one step back when Daryl threw his arm out at him.

 

“That's my brother out there!”

 

The volume of Daryl's voice had gained the attention of everyone around them. Daryl's face flushed, his lips curling tight against his teeth. His blue eyes blazed, but Rick met them head on and didn't back down when Daryl strode into his space. His breath was warm against his face and Rick found himself with a tight throat and a clenched jaw, waiting for the next thing the Dixon would do.

 

“What's yer name?” Daryl asked, scanning his face. They didn't stray to long on any feature.

 

“Rick Grimes.”

 

He was close enough to hear the quick inhale taken in through his nose. Daryl's eyes narrowed into his own and Rick felt like he could breathe again when he backed away. The younger man put even more space between them, releasing these short huffs that sounded like laughs of disbelief as he gave him his back. A hand carded roughly through dark brown hair before Daryl whipped around and stabbed a finger at Rick's chest. “ _Grimes._ Ya ain't tellin' me what to do jus' yet.”

Rick looked up and down the other as he stalked away back to that silver van and popped open the back. This Daryl was already a handful, and he'd just met up. That tanned man called Martinez was next to him in an instant, speaking lowly so no one could hear the conversation between them. Whatever it was that other man said, it got the tight line of Daryl's wide shoulders to relax, even if just a bit. He started to wonder just what exactly Daryl was losing coming to the Prison. Rick shook his head, a frown on his features, before turning away.

–

 

They parked the truck a little bit away from the town, and from the fresh tire tracks that marked the street, Rick could guess this was exactly where the group had been when they were overrun. It was quiet now and the sky was a bleeding ombre of red, orange, and dark purple. The dark made Rick's heckles rise and the distant groaning of the dead made the hairs on the back of his arms stand on end.

 

“How many you said chased you?” Rick asked Mike. He met the black fellow's wide stare as he rounded the truck onto his side with the others.

 

“About eight? Maybe? No less than five, boss.” He had a machete tied to his hip, but had a simple 9MM suppressor. It just served to remind what kind of armoury Woodbury had stocked. Mike held it out in front of him, the nose pointed down as he took the front. “A herd a' them got to Merle though. I know the way.”

 

“John?” It was a spoken in a quiet rasp, but Rick recognized it easily. Daryl came up behind Rick, his crossbow to the ready. He carried it like he was about to use it, but when Mike shook his head, recognizing that whoever John was didn't make it, he let the weapon go slack in his arms. “Where?”

 

Martinez laid a soft hand on Daryl's arm, “D, it ain't important.” Daryl inhaled and exhaled deeply and dropped his chin.

Mike didn't provide an answer, nor did he point out the direction of where their comrade fell. Rick didn't question it. By now, the man's body had to be scattered along the town, limb by limb torn from a bloodied torso until the body had become unrecognizable. It would be a waste of time looking for the remains, as much as Rick hated to say so.

 

They continued on into the town, and Rick didn't realize he was finding himself coming closer and closer to the younger man who had become alert. He didn't even notice, until he caught a quick movement from the corner of his eye and the dull thud of a body hitting the floor. Daryl was already reloading his crossbow by the time Rick was turning his head. “Nice shot.”

 

Daryl looked surprised at receiving the compliment,“There's more. Keep yer eyes open. _Listen_.” His expression turned more inquisitive as he brought the weapon up again and then he was looking away, “Where's this place at, Mike?”

 

“Just a little more... That brewery up ahead.” Mike slowed it down some and twitched at a rather menacing growl coming from another building.

 

Martinez snorted, “That sonovabitch would.” Daryl cracked a smile. Martinez slung an arm around Daryl, giving him a firm shake, “We'll find that bastard... but before then, hey you. You a cop before this, or somethin'?” At the weird look Rick shot him, Martinez shrugged, “The way you move, man. Looks like it was hammered inta you years before... this.” He waved his gun holding arm out, the action making Rick's eye twitch at the blatant disregard for safety.

 

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

 

Martinez grunted, unimpressed. Daryl sighed exasperatedly and pushed him off, muttering colorfully under his breath. Rick didn't understand.

 

Shane pushed ahead, hand falling or his shoulder. Looking back, Rick could see Glenn nervously holding their back. “What?”

“You think it's safe? Us fallin' in with them?” Shane fell in step with Rick, getting tenser the closer they get to the brewery. The hissing was getting louder, but it sounded like it was on the other side of the building. Rick hesitated, but nodded. He didn't have a reason to doubt them, not when Daryl had been so honest needing their help. “I mean... Daryl, sure. The boy wears his emotions on his sleeve, for fuck's sake. But how do we know this ain't a trap? Hell, why do they need to know about our past?”

 

Glenn spoke up, his voice just barely above a whisper, “He's got a point. Rick, we're not really safe out here.”

 

Rick slowed to a stop, providing them with space between them and the Woodbury group. He could see the way Daryl looked over at them, question in his eyes, but that stubborn nature making him walk onward. Rick looked away. Those were very good points, and Rick wondered what had made him make such a spontaneous decision to attempt this trip. This was dangerous, he was putting his men's lives on the line just to save a man who had threatened and beaten one of these on of his own.

But looking up, and the way Daryl seemed to have felt his gaze and peeked over his shoulder, Rick knew that one part of it was that he felt Daryl deserved to know what happened to his brother. He'd do this for any one of his family without a second thought. He could only extend it towards the Dixon as well.

 

“Keep your guard up. We are going by their word, and I do trust their word. But,” He sighed and looked up towards the sky, hoping to God that he had made the right decision, “Our best bet is to keep our eyes on them, while they are distracted by the walkers. Come on.”

 

They had to jog to catch up to the others, just catching them as they entered the brewery. The smell of alcohol was strong, broken bottles littered the floor, glass still gleaming. Dead bodies were on the ground, and the others were already kicking them over and peering into the faces for anything recognizable. Daryl cursed. “It ain't them. None of them...” He glared at the grimace of a dead woman, his breath coming in those short gasps against before he's kicking the gut in. “Fuck! Fuck!”

 

Rick hauled him off of the body, shoving him up against the wall and then gave him some space before anyone else could reach the Dixon. He could feel Martinez drift behind him, but he ignored him and caught Daryl's eyes with his own. “Hey. This is a good thing. We didn' find him. Fine. Least he ain't dead.”

 

Daryl panted, eyes unfocused. Rick swallowed thickly and hesitantly held onto Daryl's arms, the crossbow still held between them, but aimed just below his arm. Daryl said, “That ain't his blood.”

 

“It's not.” Rick said, even though there was no way to tell. Daryl's breath slowed down, sounding more natural, so Rick backed up. “We'll search the place.”

 

“He ain't fuckin' here.” Daryl let his crossbow fall to the ground and both his hands came up to press his palms into his eyes. Rick jumped at the sudden explosion, “That bastard ain't even here! Ya sure this is the place, Mike?”

 

“I'm sure! I mean... I mean, look!” He scanned the place before pointing off to the corner where a gleaming piece of metal sat. He ran towards it, picking up the pistol. “Here's his gun!”

 

“His _gun_?” Daryl's voice rose in pitch as he stalked towards Mike, for a second Rick was afraid the young man would fall into another panic. Rick was right behind him again, didn't care that Shane was watching silently from the corner, confusion mapped out across his face, or that Glenn had gone a little white, face pasty as the groans of walkers got closer and closer.

“Fuck. Where...? Where could he of... We're goin' out. Let's go.”

 

“No.” Rick stopped him. It was much too dark out now, they wouldn't even be able to see two feet in front of them. The hissing and growling was getting louder. He couldn't take the risk. “We stay here until morning.”

 

“But _Merle_ -”

 

“If he's alive, he ain't going anywhere. Not when its this dark.” Rick licked his suddenly dry lips and placed both his hands on Daryl's shoulders, pushing firmly. “Sit. It looks like you guys could use the rest.” Rick stared him down, saw the fight battling within him to stay or go. He was relieved when Daryl lowered his arms in acceptance. 

Daryl backed himself up against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting, arms folded over his chest. Martinez came to join, dragging the heavy crossbow over and draping it over Daryl's lap. By the looks of it, Daryl was back to collecting himself, calming himself for the war outside.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Redneckwoman c:

Daryl's snapped awake, taken back by the sudden darkness and unfamiliar territory. He took the few seconds to calm himself by breathing through his nose, slow and quiet, until he realized that he wasn't in his room back on Woodbury, and that he was in the town his own brother was missing in. He swallowed around a thick tongue, mouth sticky with dehydration, squirming to get up from his slouch against the wall.

There was a presence next to him and just remembering that it was Martinez snoozing on the floor was the only way of identification he had on the lump of breathing dark mass. Daryl could barely make out Martinez' face, but he could see the icy shine of his necklace against his chest. He debated waking the man up, but he decided he didn't need the back up. Plus, the gentle snores coming in and out of that man were sounds of much needed sleep and this was no emergency.

Daryl's fingers travelled along the crossbow on his lap. It was still loaded from earlier today, string pulled dangerously tight and baring a sharp arrow. It had grown to be a reliable weapon, one that had saved his ass out there on his own. He got to his feet as quietly as he could and as carefully as he can. Alone, he knew he was capable. Alone, he thought he might have a chance of finding Merle.

It was dark as hell, but the dark shadows he could see and easily avoid. He wound around broken chairs and dodged the sheen of shattered glass, careful not to step anywhere to close too what he thought was a body. He still noticed the shine of the Asian kid's glossy hair, the reflection of light off of the number '22' hanging around Shane's neck. As he was passing the small group, he even saw the dull gleam of Rick's ring. He jumped when it moved.

Daryl didn't say a word. Rick shifted again and he hoped the man was just moving in his sleep. His hope was shot when the older man whispered, “Are you headin' somewhere?” 

Nervously, Daryl straightened. He resisted the urge to chew on a thumbnail, his eyes searching for Rick's in the dark. He could almost make out the whites of them and stared at those. “I needa piss.”

“With your crossbow?”

Daryl scowled and brought the crossbow up in both hands. He didn't like the sound of the way Rick said that, almost like he couldn't be trusted with his own well being. Faintly, he remembered Martinez bringing up the cop thing again, and how that settled with him like it would make a difference on where Daryl would end up.

_”Goddamn. What would your brother say? Think he knew? He ain't gonna treat you better than the dirt under his boot. Not like we at Woodbury treats ya. Ain't gonna trust ya one lick.”_

Daryl frowned. Rick was unmoving and the other's silent presence made Daryl jittery. He exhaled heavily, his grip on the crossbow tightening. He waited for the older man to make a move or to say something to him. He didn't understand what was going on in his mind and figured he really didn't want to know. Huffing, Daryl pushed the unease behind him and went straight for the back door. “What? Yer gonna watch me take a leak in the corner er somethin'?”

Rick shuffled to his feet behind him. “I think we both know that's not where you're headed.”

“Yeah? Ya think ya know me now? Leave me alone.” Whatever Rick meant by that, he didn't like it either. He ignored the other man, feeling his skin crawl the only way it can when someone creeps up behind him. Instead, he focused on the silence and how the groans had died down. When he reached the back door, it was completely quiet on this end. The dusty window revealed a couple of zombies outside, easily disposable. Daryl pushed the door open as softly as he could and brought his crossbow up. He nearly let it fly and completely miss his target when a hand wrapped around his arm. “Fuck! Watch it. This thing ain't easy.”

Rick's eyebrows rose and his breath released into this amused huff. Daryl grumbled under his breath, feeling like he was being treated as some kid. “Look. I swear I'm just gonna take a fuckin' piss, okay?”

“Then you won't mind if I join you.”

“Wha-? For God's sake. Fine. Don't let me fuckin' hear ya.”

Daryl spent a second to aim and the sole arrow flew into the head of a nearby zombie. The body landed with a dull thud, alerting the one other just a couple of feet away. While Daryl was busy loading the bow for another shot, Rick sidestepped him, his Bowie knife held at head level, and striking down over the oncoming zombie in a few quick strides. The knife slid straight through the bone and into it's brain, no more than a shocked jolt took to its decomposing body. He let the body fall to the floor with a quick shove.

Daryl let his weapon's aim drop, shoulders slumped, directing the arrow head away from Rick's back. “I _had_ it.”

Rick snorted, and sure, he did sound like a whiny kid when he obviously didn't want to be treated as one, but the words came out so naturally like he had just been bested again by Merle or one of his goons. Out here, he could see Rick's features in the moonlight and his scowl only deepened when he noticed the amused little grin on the other's handsome face.

He went up to the body that still had his arrow sticking out from it's eyesocket, and pulled it out with mild disgust. “Ugly, ain't it?” He tipped it slightly with a foot, half expecting it to grab his leg and start gnawing on him, despite knowing it was a swift kill.

“Right. Do your business so we can go back inside.” Rick had already gone off to give Daryl his privacy, facing the other corner to gain some semblance of his own. Daryl expected as much and approached another building, throwing his crossbow over his shoulder.

He had just finished doing up his pants when he heard faint growling again. Daryl sighed, instead grabbing the small hunting knife from its sheath. He could feel Rick walking up on him, set on handling it when Daryl really had it covered. “Its just one. It ain't nothin'.”

Daryl felt his stomach drop. A familiar face made it out in the moonlight, illuminating the gruff features he had come to recognize, only this time the slight tan on the man's skin had washed out into a deathly pale gray, and his eyes had gone yellow with decay. A hissing growl made Daryl jump, frozen in his spot as the other came nearer, flinching when it snapped it's teeth at him.

“Daryl? Daryl get back.” Rick warned. Daryl didn't react, and when the thing made a lunge for him, fell against a hard body. Rick's hand on his forearm burned, the grip tight enough to bruise.

Daryl gasped out it's name, like upon hearing it the zombie would snap out of it and light up in recognition. The warmth that had caught him disappeared and Daryl watched with a mind numbing blankness as Rick ended it's miserable existence, hearing the sickening squelch of oozing gore. The knife lodged deep into the massive skull, and when the heavy body fell, Rick knelt above it, tugging it free with a grunt. “What's wrong with you?” Rick growled, his blue eyes narrowed on him.

The lump in Daryl's throat was hard to get down. His thoughts were racing a hundred miles a minute, questions popping up and searching for answers, _looking_ for a trail. Ben laid down by his feet with a chunk the size of his fist where the muscle and tendon of neck should be missing. He came out from that building, saw the unmoving foot of another zombie in the caved in doorway. Noticed the broken window, the bloody boot print from one foot leading out down the street. _Merle._

“They tried ta make a run fer it.” Daryl rasped.

Rick was by his side every step of the way, “You know this man?” When the Dixon didn't provide an answer, he took his arm. “Hey, you know this man?” he repeated. Worry lined the other's face and Daryl scanned it quickly for any deception. He found none.

“Left with Merle,” he grumbled and started where it was most obvious. The glass of the broken out store showed that it was shattered from the inside, and looking in, Daryl could see the corpses of unmoving bodies done by the work of blunt force. The smell of rotting flesh was stronger in here than it was out there. “They were together when they decided to check this place out... I don't see him.”

“That's good then.”

Daryl huffed and sent Rick a look. His guts didn't feel like it was rolling any more, seeing that his brother's body was not part of the count. He let himself hope that Merle was alive somewhere, locked in a room and waiting for rescue. “Ben's still dead. He was an asshole, but he was Woodbury.”

Rick watched him as he went back to the body. Daryl was already down on one knee when he said, “I'm sorry.” When Daryl looked over to him, he at least looked a bit sheepish. The redneck nodded and dropped his gaze, went back to fixing the fallen comrade into a much more dignified position. The hand on his shoulder was supportive and felt so natural coming from the other man. He wondered if Rick had to have comforted many of his people after their losses.

Daryl cleared his throat. “We still have ta find Merle.” He got to his feet, but the hand on his shoulder held him firm. Rick's blue eyes looked dark under his creased brow. It seemed he was having trouble stringing words together.

He said slowly, “If we do happen to find your brother and he's turned...”

“Ain't happenin', Grimes.” Daryl shook his head and pulled out of his grip. He refused to hear anything other than that his brother was surviving, “Nothin' can get rid a' Merle but Merle.”

 

* * *

 

The morning sun was peaking over the horizon, making the one once black night sky turn into varying shades of blue. They had managed to find a promising trail that could have been Merle's, but until they find him at the end of it they couldn't be sure. Daryl had trusted his gut. Rick trusted Daryl's skill.

The bloody boot print didn't go very far, but it at least gave them a direction. From there, they followed the fallen bodies, the ones that still shown with fresh blood and with skin that had not dried out from the hot midsummer sun. From one, they noticed a shred of plaid in its wrecked clawlike hands. Daryl had torn it from the massacred figure and then proceeded to crush the hand underneath his worn boot until the bones broke under the force into eight gory stumps.

“Nicked 'im. Thas' all it was.” Daryl had muttered to no one in particular, but Rick had murmured his own agreement. At this point it was obvious Rick was just telling Daryl what he wanted to hear. Daryl could only be grateful. At this point, he didn't know what he would of done if Rick had told him Merle was dead.

Rick had been silent for the most part. He watched his back when Daryl couldn't, especially when his mind wandered, his mind's eye figuring out each and every move Merle could of made in a fight for his life. There were a few close calls when he'd trace an invisible path, taking in the small nuances of disturbed gravel, the suggestion of a struggle through turned over trash cans, the desertion of a used blunt weapon.

Daryl stopped by a rusted old car, body bent over an open doorway. His eyes looked over frayed attempts to hot-wire the car for an escape, only to be abandoned when bleeding fists had beat at every corner of the vehicle. Passenger’s side was broken- _Thud!_  
Rick looked him in the eye, his breath heavy with the exertion it took to catch up to him and stab his knife into the creature's head. He threw the body aside without a glance to how it had landed. “We best head back,” he said, his dirty hands on his hips. A light sheen of sweat shone on the exposed span of his neck and chest. Daryl thought he must have looked the same. They'd been out for hours now.

Still, Daryl refused to give up. He shook his head. “'m close. Merle's probably still out there... he could be...”

“I know. Daryl, the other's are going to be worried. They will look for us, and who knows what could happen. If something happens to them, it will be on us.”

Daryl inhaled, the breath coming in more like a hiss. He couldn't have anymore getting lost or dead, but he didn't want to leave what he found of his kin. He was low on arrows, but he was still good at close range. If he remained careful...

“Head back. I'll keep goin'. Maybe I'll find 'im.” Daryl was already leaving when Rick grabbed his arm. He was starting to get angry at the man always touching him. “Let go a' me!”

“I can't let you do that.” Rick said. His tongue darted out to lick nervously at his upper lip, his eyes determined to take the Dixon back. He weakened his hold, tried to make it less like he was forcing Daryl and hoped he'd be able to coax him back to the brewery. “We go back together, I ain' goin' back without you.”

Daryl snatched himself away, now openly glaring at the older man. “Yeah? Well fuck you!”

“Dixon, this ain't a choice for you to make.” Rick took his arm again and this time when Rick looked into Daryl's eyes, Daryl felt the intimidation of his stare set in. The Dixon was having trouble keeping eye contact, his narrow eyes blinking and finally moving to Rick's chin. His face scrunched up and he swallowed down what felt like what might be a sob, his hands tightened around the handle of his bow as he had no choice but to back down.

“Yer askin' me to leave him, Grimes.”

“I'm askin' you to get to safety. We can't keep goin' on alone. Sightings of these things are gettin' more and more and I nearly just lost you.” At Daryl's silence, Rick sighed and let him go. “We'll find out what happened to your brother. I promised you that. But I won't let us get killed in the process.”

Daryl nodded his head sharply, head still down. He rotated his sore arm, getting his vest back up on his shoulder where it had fallen over his biceps when he had first pulled away from the ex-cop.

“I promise you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Rick led the way back, trusting Daryl to keep close. The gruff young man felt a little offended, thinking the other thought of him as a faithful dog. He had half the mind to knock the man out on his feet, lay him out for the walkers to eat, but he wasn't like his brother. Didn't have the guts to do it. And as angry as he was with the other man, he didn't deserve it.

There were less zombies on their way back. Rick had only pulled out his knife twice to dispose of the two in their way, but Daryl had grabbed the nearest blunt object and beat the living shit out of a walking corpse before Rick could even attempt the third. It felt good, feeling that he had done something. Maybe Merle had seen this face in the night. It felt even better bashing its skull in thinking this thing had even dared to be in his brother's presence.

Rick didn't touch him this time, but his voice cut through the slight hysteria brought on by desperation and lack of sleep. “That's enough... Daryl, no more.”

When Daryl took a step back, he nearly tripped on his own feet. He rocked back into a strong body, his muscles feeling heavy and his head like it was stuffed with cotton. He was going to vomit, the taste sour in the back of his throat. Rick noticed the lack of color on his clammy skin, his hair matted to his neck and forehead with cold sweat.

“Are you alright? Christ.” Rick wavered for only a second before he was pushing Daryl's hair back. He had noticed the fatigue finally setting in during their return, his own body showing the signs, but he thought they'd be able to make it. Daryl nodded shakily and righted himself, pushing himself away from the other. “Good, we're almost there.”

“Ya don't need ta hover over me.” Daryl grumbled as he trudged on. Rick was behind him this time, a pillar of support that urged every step to be a strong one. They could see the brewery now out in the distance, a haven after venturing out of it. Glenn noticed them first before either of them could see his face in the window. 

“They're here! They're back!” Glenn yelled from the inside, loud enough for even both Rick and Daryl to hear a few feet away from the door. Soon, everyone was racing outside to see. Shane marched over to Rick, face relaxed in relief. He grabbed Rick around his arms, eyes assessing for damage.

“God _damn_ , Rick. Nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Rick laughed and shrugged him off. He looked at Daryl and how he was unsteady on his feet. He was about to give him some support and take his weight, bring his arm around his shoulder and bring him back to the brewery himself, but then movement was caught in his peripheral vision. Martinez' huffing form stomped his way over, coming in front of Daryl. Rick felt himself tense when Martinez held Daryl like Shane just had, but approached Daryl more closely to the point Rick could barely see him around the tanned man.

“Where the fuck were you!” Martinez shouted and, except for the small cringe, if Daryl had not only rolled his eyes and grabbed for the water canister clipped to the Mexican American's hip, Rick would have thrown him off of the Dixon. Daryl didn't remove his eyes from Martinez as he drank slowly and loudly. To finally quench his thirst was like taking air in after nearly drowning. He shoved the empty canister back onto Martinez' chest, the other's hands curled around it to prevent it from dropping. “Great. Yer feelin' better now? Gonna tell me just where the _fuck_ ya've been?”

“Does it fuckin' matter? 'm back, ain't I?” Daryl stared at the base of Martinez' neck, watching how when the man flexed the hallows around his shoulders became more prominent. He could feel his friend's eyes burning into his forehead. “Didn' find him.”

“Then ya risked ya life out there and got nothin' for it! _Pendejo!_ ” Martinez cussed under his breath and sighed loudly.

Rick shook his head, stepping between the two men. He noticed the way dark skinned man's words made Daryl grit his teeth, and how the tilt of his head down showed the first signs of losing hope. “He got us a trail. That's somethin'.” He frowned when Martinez snorted and rolled his eyes, unimpressed.

“Great. A trail. When Merle could just as well be _long_ dead-”

They both jumped when Daryl whipped his head up and yelled, “Don't say that!” Martinez received a punch to the jaw before either man could react. It was Rick who ended up dragging Daryl's body away, grunting as he held onto each attempted lunge for the other man. “The fuck would ya know! Ya'll takin' yer beauty sleep instead of searchin' for Merle!”

“Shit, Daryl! Didn' mean it like that!” Martinez rubbed his jaw, ignoring the ache in his teeth. He took a step towards the growling Dixon, but a sharp look from Rick from over his shoulder made him halt in his step. He found that he hated seeing the cop's hands all over what should of been his at one point, _his own_ best friend. “Not tryin' ta be the bearer of bad news, D, but open yer eyes! He's been missin' fer a half a' day! Most people survive less than that on their own!”

Daryl pulled himself out of Rick's hold and got back in Martinez' face. “I found a trail. We goin' back to that damned trail.” He huffed, almost satisfied when it made Martinez flinch. This time it was the other to look away and nod curtly.

“Fine. But once that trail is gone, we are leavin' town.”

“Fine.” Daryl spat and turned around, pausing as he looked up at Rick. His eyes went back to the other's chin. “I'll return to The Prison with ya afterwards.” Since Rick didn't say anything, Daryl considered himself dismissed and started back, knowing the others would be right behind him.

Rick watched him go, quickly followed by Mike who caught up and started to speak with the younger man. The final member of Woodbury trailed behind, glaring over his shoulder at Rick.

“Lets go,” he said to his own group, thankful for their silence.

 

* * *

 

They walked back the way they came, taking a few breaks in between. Both Rick and Daryl were tired, using all their energy just to keep up with the elusive Merle Dixon. The first time, it took nearly wrestling Daryl to sit down under the shade when he slipped taking a step onto the curb while looking for any more clues around the vehicle they had last stopped at.

Every now and then they forced Daryl to take sips of water and eat. The man was hellbent on finding his brother, but with Martinez' threat to literally haul Daryl over his back with Mike back to Woodbury if Daryl didn't stop now and fuckin' eat, he eventually started taking the pauses in his search in between. Rick was glad. He actually felt his own strength restoring taking the few minutes to nap and do the same.

There were no more bloody footprints, or scraps of anything that could have been Merle's, as far as the other's could see. Daryl seemed to be leading them on in circles, but he also seemed so sure of himself. There were more downed bodies here in the parking lot of a convenient store. Daryl jogged up to it, eyes scanning, silent as he pieced together what happened hours before.

“Well? Where is he?” Martinez asked. He was looking around too, trying to see what Daryl was seeing. The place looked just like everywhere else: bright, and swarmed with flies, feasting on the dead flesh at their feet.

“I...” Daryl started, but then swallowed the rest of his sentence down. He didn't want to say he didn't know and refused to give up despite the leads to Merle getting cold again. Daryl looked towards the store, but the windows were still intact, the door still gated shut from the inside. He followed the line of dropped bodies, a small count of only three. The trail stopped there, no shows of struggle, no pieces of Merle anywhere. “We go back. I must a' read somethin' wrong.” 

“I don' think ya did.” Martinez said from behind him. He wasn't a tracker like Daryl, but he knew Merle nearly as well. He walked over what looked like fresh tire tracks and how the orange leaves around it created the wide, rectangular shape of where once a vehicle had been.

Daryl felt his once quickly beating heart begin to slow. Relief flooded through him, seeing that his brother hadn't become one of them. That relief soon turned into a feeling of abandonment, Merle now even more lost to him than he has ever been. His body finally gave, tipping backwards onto his backside. Martinez startled, just missing him by an inch, and kneeled besides the sitting Dixon. “Shit, man. You alright?”

“Sit him up more.” Rick directed and took Daryl's other side. He pushed back the long bangs hanging in the other's face. “Hey. You there, Daryl? Look at me.” Those blue, glassy eyes blankly stared up at him, making him worry. Rick touched his cheek, tilting the other's face up. “Daryl..?”

“He left me.”

“He didn't even know we came back for him, D. He could be back at either settlements. Come on, D, don't...”

“Fuckin' bastard up and left me!” His voice cracked at the end, face now hidden in his hands as he knelt forward over his knees. His body shook with tremors that Martinez could feel as he placed a hand on the redneck's back, but he ignored the comfort of both Martinez' touch and Rick's soundless support in light of the 'what if's' flying through his head.

 

* * *

 

They rolled into the Prison and it must have been obvious in everyone's faces that they had failed in retrieving the missing crew from Woodbury. They came to a stop in the clearing, met up with those few close enough to worry. Maggie ran towards Glenn as he came out, a bright smile on her face now that she could see him alive and well. She flashed more of that grin to Rick and Shane, welcoming them back.

Carol came at a slower pace, keeping a good distance between her and those who returned. She noticed how Daryl ducked his head from where he sat still in the truck. Her lips tugged downwards, her brows drawn up in concern. She approached Rick. “You didn't find him?”

Rick shook his head, sighing as he rubbed at his temple with the palm of his hand. “No. Think he made it out though.” He looked into the truck and how Daryl had blocked out everyone around him. “He just lost his brother. I don't know what's going on in his head.”

“Leave him to me.” Carol murmured and smiled when Rick tilted his head in surprise when she reached for his cheek. His features softened and he dropped his head, letting her caring touch take away some of that concern for the young Dixon.

“Be careful with him, Carol.”  _With what you say, with what you do..._  The last part didn't need to be said.

She snorted and patted him where his neck met shoulder. “My little girl was lost before you found her. I know what it's like.” She paused, her eyes distant. Rick felt crushed thinking if he'd only been faster, Sophia would still be alive. Carol shook her head, still smiling. “Now get his room ready. S'next to yours, isn't it?”

“General quarters.” Rick confirmed. After their prison family had dictated him their leader and more people started to join The Prison, they had moved Rick and his small family into a different section. The little apartment had become his, and he only agreed because it would be easier to fit in a small crib for Judith and provided her with a safe place to play, as well as kept his son close while they grieved. The rooms weren't extravagant, but it was still better than what everyone else got. “There's a lot of space. I don't know why you or... or Shane, or Hershel won't-”

“Shush. That's yours. You deserve it. Plus, I like my cell. Never had so many visitors in my life.” She chuckled and then shooed Rick away. “Go, go now.”

Rick threw one last look at their new addition. It looked like Martinez and Mike were successful in bringing Daryl out of wherever he had tucked himself in, but he was still too quiet. He sighed and with a final nod to Carol, he went on his way. Shane caught up with him, throwing an arm over the other's shoulders, ready to schedule their future supply runs. Carol watched them go for a moment before she went towards the truck.

“Now, your van is refueled and we packed you some food. Its more than enough to last you two the trip, so I hope you can share with yours at Woodbury. Daryl, your things were moved into your room.” She stood outside of the truck next to Mike who respectfully took a step to the side.

Daryl lifted his head up, his dark brown hair and eyes just visible over Martinez' back. They drifted down and he chewed on his bottom lip as he pushed the Mexican American away. He reached for the door handle behind himself and pushed it open, coming around the truck to stand in front of Carol.

“I haven't properly introduced myself,” She said.

Daryl's thick southern voice barely reached her, “I heard ya.”

Carol ignored the difference in this man now than he was the first time she saw him. She tried to catch his eyes, but when she couldn't, she pretended not to notice either. “Come on. I'd like to show you around before showing you to your room. I'll give you a few minutes?” At the nod she received, she turned around.

Daryl faced his friends, his hands tingling for something to do. He wanted a cigarette, wanted to chew on his nails until his nerves were somewhere at a reasonable level. He ran them over the tops of his legs instead. “I'll see ya.”

“Daryl, man. One month. Count the days.” Martinez jumped out of the truck and dragged the other's body against his own. His hand carded into Daryl's hair as he murmured, “I'm sorry 'bout what I said back there. I don't think he's... ya know.”

“S'cool.” Daryl's mouth quirked into a cheeky little smirk. “Didn' mean ta hit'cha. No wait, I did.” He laughed when Martinez slapped a hand to his back. When they separated he held out a hand for Mike, giving him a firm handshake. “A month.”

“Yeah, Dixon.” Mike returned the gesture and hopped into the front seat.

Before Martinez can open the passenger's side, Daryl tugged on his shirt. He didn't say anything, he just wasn't ready to let go of his past. Martinez huffed in amusement and reached up to ruffle Daryl's hair. He tried to keep it as brotherly as possible and be what the Dixon needed. “Hey, I'll keep my eyes open out there for your brother.”

“Jus' keep safe.” Daryl muttered and let him go. He leaned back against the overturned bus next to Carol, just observing as Mike and Martinez settled themselves and finally go. He felt himself withdrawing a little bit more as he watched the last of his family leave him behind.


End file.
